“He was neither scoundrel nor Lord Prestwick at the time the agreement was made.”
“Well, he’s both now.”
“Indeed, he is not.” Lady Fosberry took a judicious sip of her sherry before meeting Tilly’s eyes. “Christopher has made some questionable choices, Mathilda, but he’s no scoundrel. Not at his heart.”
Not a scoundrel? Why, the man was the very definition of a scoundrel! Lady Fosberry’s long friendship with the family had blinded her to Lord Prestwick’s true nature.
“Ah, I see you doubt me, Mathilda, but I’d wager every penny I have on the goodness of Christopher’s heart. Oh, I don’t say he’s hasn’t earned his rakish reputation, but there’s a difference, my dear, between a man who’s callous and cruel by nature, and one who is simply…misguided.”
That was rather a generous interpretation of Lord Prestwick’s character. “If that’s so, then why should you object to his marrying Harriett?”
“Why, because they don’t suit, of course. Lord Fairmont loves his sister very much, and would never betroth her to any man he believed would make her unhappy, but the agreement was made years ago, and James is no matchmaker. I can’t in good conscience let the match go forward.”
“But won’t Lord Fairmont be angry when he returns to England and discovers his sister isn’t the Countess of Prestwick?” He was meant to return soon. No one knew precisely when, but perhaps before the season was over.
“Not if she’s the Countess of Wyle, which I think likely. Lord Wyle appears to be quite taken with Harriett.”
He did, yes. It wouldn’t do to count one’s chickens, of course, but anyone could see Lord Wyle admired Harriett. “Any fond brother must prefer Lord Wyle over Lord Prestwick.”
“You quite mistake Christopher’s character, my dear. I would have thought one who’s own family has been so viciously slandered by spiteful gossip might show more compassion.” Lady Fosberry’s tone was mild, but she held Tilly’s gaze. “Of all people, Mathilda, you should know things are rarely as the gossips claim.”
Oh, dear. Shedidknow that, better than anyone, and her cheeks heated at the rebuke. “You’re right. That was unkind of me. I beg your pardon.”
“It’s quite alright.” Lady Fosberry reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s just that I feel rather protective of Christopher. He’s the last of the Prestwicks, you know, now his uncle is dead. He’s alone, and rather lonely, I think.”
“He’s not alone,” Tilly said absently. “He has Fanny.”
A long silence followed, but it wasn’t until she looked up and saw the astonishment on Lady Fosberry’s face that Tilly realized her blunder. “I… that is, I mean—”
“Tell me, Mathilda. How do you happen to know the name of Lord Prestwick’s former mistress?”
“I, ah—Harriett must have mentioned it to me.” As soon as the words tumbled from her lips she wanted to bite her tongue out. Harriett—sweet, naïve Harriett—was meant to have told her about Lord Prestwick’s scandalous mistress?
Oh, what a dreadful blunder! Lady Fosberry would surely demand to know the truth, and the entire garden escapade would spill from her lips, and Lady Fosberry would tell Phee, and Phee…oh, Phee would be so disappointed in her!
“I see.” Lady Fosberry set her glass aside and folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t believe you told me, Mathilda, how you and Lord Prestwick became acquainted tonight.”
“The usual way one does at a ball.” Tilly waved a careless hand, as if that explained everything, but the only way a gentleman might become acquainted with a lady at ball was if a common acquaintance introduced them. Lady Fosberry was their only common acquaintance, and presumably she was aware that she hadn’t made the introductions.
Lady Fosberry pinned her sharp gaze on Tilly, but she said only, “Christopher needs a wife, and it won’t be Harriett.”
“I daresay he’ll find one soon enough. A dozen marriage-minded mamas descended upon him tonight. I’ve never seen a man more horrified in my life, though I don’t know why he should be surprised at it. Scandalous reputation aside, he’s just what every lady in London is clamoring for.” Indeed, if he weren’t such a scoundrel, he’d very likely be the season’s Nonesuch, instead of Lord Wyle.
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, he’s…he’s very… that is, he’s….” Tilly took a gulp of her sherry. “He’s an earl, for pity’s sake, and not…entirely unattractive.”
“Ah, so youdothink him handsome, Mathilda?”
“I don’t think of him at all!” But the denial was too quick, and too vehement, and Lady Fosberry’s lips curved in a sly grin. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Very well, then. I don’t see that there can be much debate on the subject. Lord Prestwick is, objectively, very handsome.”
Very wicked, as well, no matter how much Lady Fosberry insisted otherwise.
“Poor Christopher is in for trying season, I’m afraid.” Lady Fosberry shook her head. “His trouble will be too many applicants for his hand, not too few.”
“I daresay he’ll manage.”
“I don’t see how. What does a rake know about choosing a proper match from the hordes of young ladies who will throw themselves at him this season? I daresay he’ll become frustrated before the first week is out, and insist upon having Harriett.”
